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Barred: Tørst
When: Tuesday, 7:14pm
What did I drink? A Saison Darkly, $5 (small size) Even More Jesus, $11 (big size). I think there were actually three beers, but even in wine glass-sized servings, proofs approaching 12% can cause forgetfulness (I’d rather blame the alcohol than senility).
When I arrived at Tørst, I was pleased to see the friend I was meeting (41) had found another friend alone at the bar who seemed grown (4Ø, it turned out). But that was the end of that. Beer lures men, and the only other women were younger and better halves.
It could be the prices or maybe the seriousness of purpose or possibly the subtle demographic shift from 11211 to 11222, but the men were higher caliber than I’ve come to expect for the area. Probably still 90% under 40, but mature, no bros, no fedoras, even a suit or two.
This raised a conflict, however. When a third friend (41) showed up, she declared the bar age appropriate because of all the pool of men. (She had also gone on a sort of date with someone–younger, of course–affiliated with the establishment, so I should disregard her biased input.)
That wasn’t my original intent. Perhaps I’m more hardline than I realized because I meant these bar visits to test the climate for peers, fellow females in solidarity, and once again there weren’t really any. One obviously older woman came in, walked to the back, turned around and left. Maybe she was looking for someone she didn’t find, or maybe what she didn’t find was anyone like herself.
Was I carded? No. I may have to retire this criterion since only gross places seem to card and I’m committed to avoiding them.
Age appropriate? From the men with potential angle, yes. It also introduced the concept of Parents of Transplants. Tørst, it appears, is also appropriate for showing visiting elders the neighborhood, and jacked the age range up to 60something. -
I refuse to use the C word (no, not cunt) for Joan’s old friend, Kate, the Mary Kay saleswoman from Spokane, despite her insistence on visiting a tourist/teenybopper hangout to hit on the much younger waitstaff. It did lead to whisky-swigging in a cab and a night out on St. Mark’s at Electric Circus.
Would that be age appropriate for a 37-year-old like Joan (same as Christina Hendricks in real life) and Kate, played by Marley Shelton (39) whom I mistook as Heather Graham for a second? Perhaps, but Joan now looks comparatively matronly (but hot) with her dated up ‘do and girdle-requiring dress next to the girls with loose hair, pants, mini-dresses and go go boots.
As someone who at 10pm was still feeling the effects of the night before (no, I can’t drink eight drinks like I used to–do keep in mind that a 5pm-2am span means less than one per hour) I could relate to the twosome’s bed-ridden morning after. Good for them, whooping it up on a weeknight.
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Barred: OTB
When: Friday, 11pm on the dot.
What did I drink? Turkey Jerky (Redemption rye, Osocolis brandy, cinnamon sugar, Angostura bitters, Bittermen’s Tiki bitters) Two Hemingway daiquiris (maraschino and grapefruit juice makes the difference) which I’ve decided will be my spring drink if it ever becomes spring-like outside. $10, apiece.Old To Be here? Oblivious To Boundaries? On The Bench? Obviously Too Broken-down?
OTB proves that it’s possible to even make off track betting (RIP) Brooklyn old-timey. It also reminds me that I really need to get to that Aquaduct racino for a very different, mostly likely highly age-appropriate, experience.
What the bar could’ve looked like.The design includes a trio of antique rotary payphones that will make elders feel welcome while confounding digital natives (my favorite new coded job description phrase). The evening candle light (ours was snuffed out three times because I’m a blowhard–but it was promptly relit every time) is also kind to the older woman. That doesn’t mean you’ll see any, though.
As with Williamsburg generally (I swear, I’m branching out soon) a quick sweep of the room rarely turns up anyone obviously over 32. It’s the obvious aspect that’s making me start to wonder, though. I don’t think that I or most of my female friends look overtly 40+ (though stating that aloud is a sure sign of being Wurtzel-level delusional) so who is to say that I’m accurately pegging the ages of others?
Was I carded? No, OTB is semi-restaurant in nature.
Age appropriate? Yes, in that no one will pay attention to you one way or the other.Photo: Yana Paskova/New York Times
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In my 20s I wanted booze, in my 30s I wanted drugs. Now, I’m in my 40s, I want to know how to cook a good spit roast.
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“That was the Harvey Wallbanger talking. Sorry.”
When middle-aged women go drinking 1981-style on The Americans. KGB agent Elizabeth Jennings a.k.a. Kerri Russell is 37, and her neighbor, Sandra Beeman, is played by Susan Miser, age 42. Looking good, ladies.
Of course, these are women heading into their second decade of (rocky, hence the husband-free drinking) marriage with teens at home so they probably seemed even older.
By the way, the Harvey Wallbanger made her talk about the only person she’d slept with other than her husband: a visiting Finnish professor in school.
I’m ordering a Harvey Wallbanger the next time I go out (have never had one–and my last attempt failed).
(Source: http://www.goodiesfirst.com/) -
Barred: Donna
When: Saturday, 5:46pm.
What did I drink? Daiquiri, Haunted House (Appleton Jamaican Rum, rye, Swedish punsch, ginger syrup, Angostura bitters) $7, 2 oz. Buffalo Trace, $9.Like Linda or Deborah, Donna is not a young person’s name (even The Donnas, once girl wonders, are now in their 30s). Donnas were teens in the ‘70s, like my aunt’s friend whom she met working at Winchell’s when I was in preschool and recently friended me on Facebook.
It may go without saying, but daytime drinking (weekends and furtive workplace slip-outs) is tailor made for the older set. And Donna, down low on Broadway near the Italian waterfront restaurant everyone knows about, but has never visited, is a perfect place to spend a few daylight hours. On Saturdays there are tacos. Before 7pm, even on weekends, there are discounted drinks, $7 instead of $10, which encouraged me to try the Haunted House, an iced alcoholic mishmash, a.k.a. hipster Long Island Ice Tea.
On the early side, there was a group of gay men visiting from Boston, possibly over 40 but well-preserved, a tan gentleman in a preppy v-neck sweater who had to be in his 50s with a decade-younger woman who had that darker eyebrow, blonde Argentine look, both polished. It was our group, though, celebrating at 41st birthday that raised the average age in the room. Seven out of ten were 40+ (and I was rude enough to ask the two attendees I’d never met before how old they were).
But beware, the Belle and Sebastian, Fleetwood Mac, Steely Dan (Peg!), all favorite soothers, give way after dark, and the sunny, leisurely atmosphere shifts with the arrival of a DJ. Stay too long, and it’s a standing room only scene for people who’ve never known anyone named Donna first-hand.
Was I carded? No doorman, no nonsense.
Age appropriate? To a point.
